


When Lights Are Low

by foolhearty



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Post-Darkness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World of Ruin, Slow Dancing, Trans Male Character, Trans Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolhearty/pseuds/foolhearty
Summary: He’s warm here, standing on feet far more sure than his own. He lets Cor lead, especially when he’s feeling like this. Like he isn’t really all there. Like he isn’t himself.





	When Lights Are Low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingsocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsocean/gifts).



> This is something of a gift fic for my pal Arcadia, who I write with on tumblr. The headcanons in this fic are based on roleplays we have together & some discord conversations about our favorite boys. 
> 
> The title comes from "When Lights Are Low," a 1964 tune by Tony Bennett.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual.

Prompto couldn’t name the tune wafting softly through the air, even if he wanted to; it’s definitely something old, something from long before the Darkness. He remembers somewhere vague and far off in the back of his mind that this was something his father had loved, this slow jazz. As a kid, when Prom had first began to realize his parents would need to be gone from the home more and more the older he got, he’d resented this kind of peaceful music. It had always meant his parents would want to stay in for the day, when all he’d wanted was to go out and spend time with them.

Now, though, he more than understands the appeal.

He’s warm here, standing on feet far more sure than his own. He lets Cor lead, especially when he’s feeling like this. Like he isn’t really all there. Like he isn’t himself. He forgets about the food cooking mere feet from them, baking away in the oven. There’s a timer set. He can let himself and his thoughts swim free, for at least this moment, knowing he’s safe with Cor pacing them half-gracefully around the room. They bump into the table once or twice, but Prompto pays no mind to it.

As the song shift, so too does their dance; it’s not much faster, it doesn’t disrupt Prom and his wandering mindset, but some part of him does realize Cor is moving them differently. Prompto thinks if professional dancers were moving here, there would have been a dip or two in the mix, slow and low where the dancers look into each other’s eyes and swoon. It’s a romantic thought. He’s glad Cor seems to know he wouldn’t be able to handle all that motion right now.

“...Prompto? Will you help me water the succulents tomorrow?”

They’re the first words Prom recognizes. He blinks the daze from his mind, turning his head confusedly back to Cor, giving him his attention. “What?”

“It’s about time, I’d say. Been a little over a week. It’s been warm.”

“Oh.”

Cor smiles, and it’s a small thing. His smiles are always small things. But they mean the world, and Prompto feels like the luckiest man alive, knowing he’s one of the few people in the entire world who gets to see them just about every day. He feels his throat knot up before he realizes his tears are already falling. He feels Cor gently trace a hand up to his neck, guiding him back to his shoulder. Prompto rests his head there, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Damn it.

“Who are you?” Cor’s voice is about as gentle as Prompto has ever heard it, sounding low but nonthreatening. The words are spoken right up against his ear, meant only for him (as if anyone else could possibly be in their apartment, listening in, but the gesture matters more to Prompto than the practicality of it). “Can you tell me your name?”

“Prompto.”

“Just Prompto?”

“Prompto Argentum- Argentum-Leonis.”

He feels lips press against his cheek, but he doesn’t stop crying. Cor doesn’t try to make him stop. They continue, more swaying back and forth than dancing in any capacity. The dancing isn’t what matters. The music isn’t what matters.

When Prompto turns his head towards the oven timer, he feels a wet patch on Cor’s shirt. He shakes some, arms tightening their grip around Cor before tugging himself away. It’s the last thing he wants to do. He does it anyway.

He can’t yet smell the food and if he’s being honest with himself, he isn’t all that hungry anymore. He sneaks a quick glance over his shoulder at Cor as he paces towards the oven and turns it off, lowering the heat to zero. Next to the oven on the counter sits their little radio; Prompto remembers having a nicer one here, before Insomnia fell. A lot of things were nicer here before Insomnia fell. But the same really could be said about the whole world, not just this city alone. Before Cor can raise any questions, Prompto places a shaky hand on the volume dial and turns it up (just a bit; it’s not overbearing, but it’s more). When he makes it back over to Cor’s side, his arms twist back into place easily, as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“I’ll help you water tomorrow.”

He somehow manages to sound larger than he feels and takes it as a small victory, but with the way he folds immediately back into Cor’s shoulder and sighs heavily it’s probably clear he still isn’t feeling like he’s in tip-top shape. Cor eventually takes the lead once more, swishing Prompto gently across the room and back. They’re even mostly in time with the music, except for the instances where Prompto’s feet accidentally slip off of Cor’s and they both stub their toes against a counter corner or chair.

“Y’know I love you, right?” Prompto asks, whispering the words into Cor’s neck. “I’d be an even worse mess if you weren’t still kicking around.”

Cor’s snort is something to behold when he shakes his head. “As if I’m any sort of put together myself. We’ve both been dealt some pretty bad hands, kid. Just glad we’re both alive to feel bad about it in the first place.”

Prompto cracks a smile at that, lifting his head to look at Cor. “I’m happy to still be alive at the same time as you. Pretty sappy, huh? Haven’t lost my touch yet?”

Cor’s hands are well callused and rough from years and years of battle. Sometimes Prompto wishes he’d been able to meet King Mors before he died, just so he could slap him for letting a thirteen year old join the Crownsguard. But at the same time, Cor is who he is today because of everything he’d gone through since then. And Cor still respects the old king, even what feels like ages after his death.

“Hey... Let’s really forget about the food for a bit.” He tries to be subtle about the way he shifts their dance, about how he slides off Cor’s feet and repositions his hands to steal the lead. He’ll never be great at dancing. Ignis had tried to teach him once or twice over the years, while they waited for Noctis to emerge from the Crystal, but there was only so much time for dancing when daemons stood between them and every last cache of goods and supplies that the refugees in Lestallum needed to stay alive.

But dancing with Cor, even poorly, is worth the effort.

“Lets... move.” If Cor minds at all the way Prompto slowly begins leading them out of the kitchen and into the living room, he doesn’t say anything. The arch of his brow betrays confusion. Prompto simply smiles, guiding them both around the room, keeping a safe distance from the couch and the coffee table, from the TV and the potted plants that seem to grow in number with each passing outing into town. They bought a cactus last week. They’re still pretty rare, after the Darkness, as most indoor plants are. The cactus they bought at the greenhouse is ridiculously small, but they were told it’d grow a nice yellow bloom on top if they were watchful about how they cared for it.

Prompto made Cor promise to buy him another one, if they were able to keep this one alive for more than a month or so. Cor hadn’t needed much convincing.

They skirt towards the couch with about as much grace as two military men with four total left feet can manage, and when they get there, Prompto nudges Cor down before settling easily onto his lap. It’s a practiced routine, this motion, relaxing against Cor’s front. There will always be certain nerves and certain aches he can’t shake, just as Cor has his own inner demons that he fights every day, but being like this quiets them and dulls their sharpness.  
  
“I love you,” Prompto says again, voice cracking as he speaks the words, tears once more welling up in his eyes. When Cor reaches a callused thumb up to wipe the wetness away from his cheeks, he laughs and shakes his head and leans in to kiss the very corner of Cor’s lips. “I love you.”

He lets his hands roam, thin fingers fiddling with Cor’s button down- patient, but determined, and all too ready to get their job done. “Dinner can wait, can’t it?”

Cor snorts a half laugh and lolls his head back, resting it up the puffy cushions of their couch. “Dinner can wait.”


End file.
